Honeymoon
by bitchinblackframedglasses
Summary: This is exactly what it sounds like- scenes from Sherlock and John's honeymoon after they marry in Innocence Lost. Heads up, this contains some smut and some kink. Message or PM if you want me to write out a scene, smutty or not, from their honeymoon.
1. Chapter 1

As soon as the car had pulled away from the Holmes Estate Sherlock was pinning John to the upholstery and undoing his silvery tie with a wicked smile on his face. Once the offending necktie was gone, Sherlock swooped in and kissed John's throat, nibbling at the pulse point, licking over his new husband's Adam's apple until John let out a shaky moan, his head falling back in appreciation. "I love you," he breathed, his face awash with bliss, and Sherlock felt his heart expand and expand until he felt as if it were to burst. Consumed by his passion, he flew back down for another bruising kiss. As he and John let their tongues mingle together, loving and exploring, John's fingers found Sherlock's necktie and he removed it, working on the buttons of his shirt and jacket next.

It only took a few more moments before Sherlock's torso was uncovered and John was free to rub his hands over the smooth chest, the muscles, the tiny trail of hair down Sherlock's taut stomach. He let his fingers toy with the waistband of Sherlock's expensive trousers. The detective let out a gasp as John rubbed the skin there in slow circles, chuckling at his lover's reaction. Sherlock let out a whine of disappointment when John pulled away, and John laughed again, pulling him in for a quick, loving kiss. "Patience- we've got a bit of a car ride," John reminded him, and Sherlock rolled his eyes and pouted, knowing full well that John couldn't resist the sight of his full bottom lip.

"Why not spend that time doing something useful? Something _stimulating?" _Sherlock asked innocently, nibbling a bit on his lip to draw John's attention there. John narrowed his eyes at him, knowing exactly what he was doing. He decided to ignore Sherlock's display- for now. Soon, Sherlock's ministrations would be impossible to ignore; he might as well ignore them while he could.

"We could debate how much these suits cost," John suggested in a dry tone, lifting his tie off of the floor of the limousine. He knew that it probably cost more than his life was worth, and yet he had let Sherlock throw it carelessly to the floor.

"Roughly 100,000 pounds altogether, judging by the weave pattern, the quality of the wool-cashmere blend, and, of course, the quality of the silk ties," Sherlock rattled off carelessly, giving a huff at John's disregard for his wants. "Don't worry about them, John. Felicity may have taken care in picking them out, but she knew that we'd never wear them again." Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his seat with a huff, literally crossing his arms over his chest like a child. John raised an eyebrow at his actions, a small part of his brain lamenting over the price and a larger part of his brain thinking about what he could do with two silk ties that no one expected to see again. He _especially _wondered what he could do with those ties and Sherlock. The idea of it made him lick his lips reflexively.

"Who says we won't wear them again?" John asked before Sherlock could comment on his lip-licking. He let that innuendo hang in the air and Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly, feeling his excitement build inside him at the mystery John had presented him with. While he and John had most definitely had sex and they had most definitely experimented a bit to learn what each other liked, they were still so young a couple as to have not looked at or satisfied their deeper fantasies. John had seen Sherlock looking at his riding crop contemplatively after sex more than once, but for the most part, he hadn't pressed Sherlock on his deeper desires. Not yet.

"Did you have something in mind?" Sherlock asked, proud that he had been able to keep his voice perfectly level, at an almost uncaring tone. However, John knew the detective better than he knew himself, and he had picked up on that uncaring tone in Sherlock's voice. He could see how excited Sherlock had been by the idea, and his faked nonchalance was just another clue to John that he was hitting a nail of Sherlock's right on the head.

"A few ideas, actually, but since we are in a limo…" John let himself trail off thoughtfully, even though he already knew exactly what he was going to do to Sherlock. He grinned internally when Sherlock sent him a look that clearly expressed what the detective thought about holding back simply because they were in a moving vehicle. "Got one," John announced, bending down to pick up Sherlock's long abandoned shirt and tie. "Do you trust me?" He asked Sherlock, and for once, the detective held back a scathing remark. Instead, he met John's gaze without blinking, letting the weight of his conviction rest in his expression. Their stare increased in tension as the two of them refused to look away, with the exception of looking at each other's bodies briefly before resuming eye contact. "Right, turn around." John asked finally, and Sherlock sent him a lust-filled gaze over his shoulder and through his lashes before complying.

Wincing internally at what he was about to do, John took Sherlock's discarded shirt and twisted the entire garment into a long rope with the sleeves at both ends. Once the expensive fabric was wound tight enough, John used it to bind Sherlock's hands behind him, placing butterfly kisses across his shoulders and back as he did so. Sherlock wriggled a bit once he was tied, but made no comment against what John had done. John gently turned him back around and looked at Sherlock a moment, admired how his strong arms looked pulled behind him. The idea of what he was doing, what he was going to do, made his cock twitch inside his fancy trousers. He took his tie and tied a knot in the middle of the smooth, silky fabric. They way Sherlock's eyes sparkled with excitement as John raised the improvised gag for his inspection nearly made John pull him over and kiss him hard. Taking Sherlock's obvious excitement as acquiescence, John kissed Sherlock anyway and then gently slid the knot inbetween Sherlock's lips and tied it behind his head. "You're going to be begging for it by the time we get there," John made sure to whisper in Sherlock's ear as he secured the gag, and Sherlock shuddered, letting out a muffled moan when John licked the shell of his ear.

Now that Sherlock was bound and gagged, there was only one tie left in John's hands. He used that to blindfold Sherlock, pressing a kiss to his temple as he did so. As the grey fabric covered Sherlock's eyes and obscured his vision, he felt a pang of arousal flash through his body. He had no idea what John was going to do, no idea where he'd gotten the idea in the first place, and had no idea how long John would keep him this way. Despite that, he didn't care- in fact, he _liked it, _and if the brief glimpse of the bulge in John's trousers Sherlock had seen before he was blindfolded was any indication, John liked it too. Sherlock dreamed briefly of doing the same thing to his lover when ghosting hands traveled down his chest, his spine. The feather light touches made gooseflesh rise on his skin, made him squirm a bit. Usually he would rely on his hearing to help him when his other senses were diminished, but all he could focus on was the pulse in his ears and the sensation of John's fingers.

John suddenly pushed him against the leather seat with a firm shove, surprising him. A soft grunt made it through his gag, which quickly turned into a moan of pleasure when John's tongue found his nipples. The doctor teased and teased, nipping and sucking and twisting until Sherlock was groaning like a whore, writhing a bit on the seat. He arched in his seat as John's cruel fingers skimmed down his ribs, reaching his belt. John lavished his long neck with kisses and then hickeys as he undid Sherlock's belt and slid it out of the loops. Nimble fingers undid the detective's button and fly, and inched first trousers and then pants off of the detective, stopping briefly to get off his shoes and socks. Before Sherlock could reflect on the fact that he was completely naked in the back of a limo, John pulled him over his lap and he groaned at the sensation of his cock pressing into John's thigh, the doctor's own erection poking at his side.

The pop of a bottle of lube opening brought him out of his haze of lust briefly, and he perked up a bit, listening in earnest for other noise to help him figure out what John was going to do. In turn, he let out of a shocked moan of pleasure when John's hand suddenly came down over his exposed arse, slapping it. The warm glow of heat and pleasure that spread through his arse at the sensation made him wiggle, grinding his erection into John's thigh and gasping at the sensation. Another slap came down, harder, and a hand tugged at the curls on the back of his neck, keeping him from humping against John's thigh. The groan that came out of Sherlock was deep and primal that time as his arms jerked in their makeshift restraints. He wanted to grind on John, to stroke himself and the doctor. "Patience, Sherlock," John said, his voice husky with arousal, and another slap came down, this time on the other cheek, the other hand still holding his hair firmly. Sherlock wriggled and moaned, throwing his head back into John's touch, a silent beg for more, more attention, more slaps, more friction, more _anything._

His wish was granted when a finger slippery with lube pushed at his entrance, rubbed the tight ring of muscle, massaged the sensitive skin between his anus and testicles, and then finally the bollocks themselves. Sherlock moaned and groaned and shook at John's ministrations, arms once again pulling at his restraints. The feeling of having his hands confined, of the delicious pull of his trapped muscles, made his already engorged cock only swell. The fingers returned to his anus and pushed in, stretching him, adding a finger when he pushed back upon them, moaning out John's name from around his gag. The fingers scissored and stretched until they could reach inside and massage over the bundle of nerves that was Sherlock's prostate.

The detective nearly arched off of John's lap as John continuously worked the bundle with a doctor's precision, stroking and rubbing in circles of alternating speeds until Sherlock was a panting, groaning mess. His cock was hard against John's thigh, and was leaking precome onto John's expensive trousers. It wasn't long before the detective was shuddering with his oncoming orgasm. He could feel the heat coming, feel the sensation of the most intense pleasure slowly approaching down his nerves and to his groin. John's heavy erection was still poking into his side, and his own trapped cock every once and awhile brushed against John's trousers, creating delicious friction.

In the end, it was John bringing a palm down to slap his arse again that pushed him over the edge and into orgasm. With a low, long and shuddering moan, Sherlock came, spilling his seed down John's trouser leg and onto the floor of the limo. He was so deep in the sensation of his orgasm that he didn't realize that John had removed his fingers and was undoing the shirt tied around his wrists until his one arm flopped off of his back and hit the ground. John untied the gag first, and then the blindfold, helping his now shaky love off of his lap and onto the seat next to him. John's wolfish grin made Sherlock's heart swell with love, and he leaned over and kissed his blogger sweetly, making it a deep, passionate kiss. When John started chuckling, Sherlock pulled away, surprised at John's reaction. "What's so funny?" He asked, his voice low through his post-orgasm haze, and John laughed again, affectionately rubbing Sherlock's curls.

"We're here, Sherlock. We've been here for ten minutes. You lasted a long time," he broke into swooping bouts of laughter as Sherlock blinked at him, just realizing that the smooth limo was no longer moving and that there was silence all around them. "Was that a stimulating enough of a pastime for you?" John asked, and Sherlock practically _purred _low in his throat, lunging forward to steal a kiss.

"Thank you," He told John as they pulled apart. John responded by handing Sherlock his pants and trousers. Ignoring the semen stain on his trousers, John opened the door and climbed out of the limo, holding the door for Sherlock. It was very late, but he could see the outline of the beautiful cottage in front of them, could hear the sea crashing against the coast a dozen meters or so away. The driver of their limo had long since driven off, leaving the two of them there to their own privacy and desires. The air was clean, so different from that of polluted London. Sherlock ambled out behind him, closed the door, and took John's hand. He pulled him behind him, almost impatiently, until they got to the door of the cottage. Sherlock pulled him inside, through the dark corridors of their new lodgings, and to the bedroom.

It was clearly the largest room of the house, sporting a huge bed in the center, a four-poster. Even in the dark, Sherlock navigated over and pushed John down onto the bed, hungrily nipping at his throat and fumbling with his shirt buttons. "Sherlock, what-?" John managed inbetween kisses as the detective slapped his hands away from helping with the removal of his shirt.

"It's your turn, John," Sherlock told him in a low, almost predatory voice, and John felt a shiver race up his spine.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock quickly divested John of his shirt and attacked his trousers even more viciously, as well as his pants, until the doctor was naked. Before John could protest that this was their honeymoon and that he had only done what he had in the car to keep Sherlock entertained, his lover swallowed him to the base, purring low in his throat at the feeling of John's cock bumping the back of his throat. John would have arched off the bed if not for large, spidery hands holding him in place, two firm grips on his hips.

Holding him mercilessly down, Sherlock began to worship John's cock. He licked slow, firm strokes up and down the shaft, paying close attention the sensitive underside. He lapped precome away from the slit, teased the skin there. He let his teeth just barely ghost over John's thick shaft, his tongue wrapping artfully around it. He smirked as best as he could with his mouth full at the sounds John was making- he could tease him as much as he wanted to hear those sounds. John was _his. _That idea made him pull almost all the way off of John so that he could center John's head perfectly on his tongue. Then, he took a deep breath through his nose and sucked as hard as he could, hollowing his cheeks and pulling his head back slowly. The effect on John was stunning- he cried out in a yell, hips bucking around Sherlock's hands. The doctor's own hands found Sherlock's curls, his shoulders, and scrabbled hopelessly over him, to lost in lust to hold on.

"No one is around to hear you, John, but you are being rather loud," Sherlock mused mockingly, coming off of John and earning a whimper at the loss of the wet heat. "And you were so worried about getting good use out of our suits, so I suppose that includes _all _of the suits," Sherlock continued to reason as John panted down at him, eyes blown wide with lust. Deciding to return John's previous favor, Sherlock retrieved John's belt and took no time in belting his hands to the headboard, internally grateful that although the bed was a four poster, it also had a headboard. After determining that John wouldn't hurt himself on his own belt, Sherlock snaked back down his torso, licking and nipping, until John was gasping and squirming, his head thrown back. He let out a particularly vocal yell when Sherlock nipped at the top of his hip with a purr of delight. Sherlock's head snapped up, eyes twinkling; he'd been waiting for John's self-control to snap. "Again, volume, John," he pretended to chide, reaching down the bed for John's discarded pants. "Good thing we have these pants to put to good use," he said with fake brightness, and gave John a searing, bruising kiss before tucking the pants into his mouth. John groaned around the fabric, canting his hips up to rub his swollen erection on Sherlock's trousers.

Chuckling, Sherlock stood on the edge of the bed, far away from John as he could get without falling to the floor, and met his gaze from behind his lashes, feeling his cock already pricking up again at the sight of John, bound and naked and already looking so gloriously debauched. He let his fingers skim down his own torso, stopping briefly to rub a nipple, before he found his belt. He undid it slowly, sensually, letting the leather slide through his palm as he would rub a cock. John let out a filthy moan, screwing his eyes shut before opening them, unable to help himself. The sight of Sherlock strip teasing was making his already ridiculously hard cock almost painfully hard, and if the detective wasn't careful he would come before he could finish the blowjob he'd started. Sherlock's fingers undid the button, then the zip, and then his trousers were falling to the bed, leaving him in nothing but his pants, his erection visible through the stretchy fabric. John's eyes appraised him, ran over the muscles of his legs, his torso, his arms. Sherlock wasn't just brilliant and loving and the best thing that had ever happened to him, he was also truly _beautiful. _His cheekbones were practically glowing in the dim moonlight that made it in through the window, and the fact that he was only wearing black pants that were barely concealing an erection made him all the more gorgeous to John.

Sherlock traced the outline of his cock through his pants, breath hitching at almost the same time as John's as the sensation sent a shiver up his spine. He'd much rather that John was doing the stroking, but John was a bit tied up at the moment, and Sherlock was more than willing to return the favor of the limousine ride there. Mission in mind, Sherlock knelt at the edge of the bed in one fluid movement and started to kiss the arches of John's feet, nuzzling them, worshiping them, even tickling them when John jerked and made a suspiciously giggle-like sound from around his gag. He moved up his calves, licking the sinewy muscles, and peppered his knees with kisses. The closer he got to John's cock, the more the man trembled with anticipation. As Sherlock massaged his thighs, licking the inner sections, John mewled, tugging on his bound wrists, arching his back, trying to urge Sherlock up to his cock.

"Patience, John," Sherlock repeated him, voice husky, as he took his time licking at John's inner thighs, getting close to his testicles while holding his mindlessly thrusting hips firmly down. For the doctor, it was torture. He knew that Sherlock was very skilled with his tongue, and he wanted that attention on the one part of him that was throbbing with desire. His cock was heavy with arousal, bobbing whenever he thrashed, and that sensation sent bolts of desire down his nerves. When Sherlock nuzzled his balls, licking at them like they were a lolly, he yelled out something around the lines of "Oh _god-!" _, but it came out as a strangled cry of pleasure from around his own pants.

Sherlock purred again, taking a ball into his mouth and sucking on it like he would John's cock, breathing in and tasting John's scent, smiling to himself as John moaned and thrashed above him, his groans cracking in desire. He pleasured one testicle until he was satisfied, and then switched to the other. By the time he finished with John's bollocks, the doctor was canting his hips desperately, spreading his legs like a whore, a delightful flush spread over his chest and cheeks. Sherlock looked John over briefly, looking for any spots he had missed in his ministrations- he'd given John a few hickeys on his collarbones and ribs, worked up his legs, and had given John that one passionate kiss before he'd gagged him with his own underwear. John's eyes opened, dark with yearning when Sherlock paused long enough to get through his haze of lust, and their eyes met.

Smiling wickedly, Sherlock leaned down and licked the slit on John's cock, holding it firmly by the base. John moaned something unintelligible, squirming and rubbing his arse on the sheets, his head thrashing from side to side. Admiring John's cock, Sherlock licked and sucked and teased until John was shuddering, close to orgasm. Then, Sherlock released his hips and swallowed him to the base, relaxing his throat to let John slide in as far as he could go. It only took John a few mindless thrusts of fucking Sherlock's mouth to come with a needy yell, shooting rope after rope of come down Sherlock's throat. The detective swallowed it all almost greedily, milking John through his entire orgasm. Once John was going flaccid, he licked away any remaining come from John's penis and came off of him.

Smiling fondly now, Sherlock kissed his way up John's body to pull the pants from John's mouth. Throwing them aside, he reached up to undo John's belt as his doctor panted and giggled beneath him, spent and in a post-orgasm high. "That- that was brilliant, Sherlock. God," John managed, humming when Sherlock rubbed his arms as he laid them back on the bed, taking special care to rub John's sore shoulder, kissing the scar tissue there.

"There's more, John," Sherlock said softly, and John looked down at the erection still painfully confined in the detective's pants. The sight of it made John lick his lips. He wanted that cock, even though he'd just been pleasured into one of the finer scenes of heaven. When it came to Sherlock, he always wanted more. He propped himself up on an elbow so that he and Sherlock were almost nose to nose, breathing into each other's mouths.

"I want you inside me, Sherlock." John told him, and Sherlock shuddered, tilting his head back a bit at the thought. John leaned forward and kissed his jaw line, sitting up straighter so that he could caress the back of Sherlock's neck, tug on the curls there. "_Fuck me," _he whispered, and Sherlock moaned, hips canting upward. He kissed John hard, his hands skimming the doctor's nipples as he let his tongue slid along his lover's. Both men moaned into the kiss, and John's cock gave an interested twitch. Only with Sherlock could he go so many times in a row, get so unbelievably hard, and then do it all over again. It was amazing, and John definitely wasn't complaining. Sherlock hastily stripped off his pants and then grinded down on John's swelling prick, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy, cracked grunt at the friction, at the heat. When John brought a hand down and stroked them both, Sherlock's head rolled on his shoulders, John's name mingling on his lips.

He let John stroke himself to hardness as he lifted one of his legs onto his shoulder, reaching for the bedside table at the same time. Bottles of lube were discreetly provided in the walnut nightstand, and Sherlock wasted no time in cracking one open and coating his fingers. Thanks to his earlier massage, John was partially relaxed, but he still needed preparation. Sherlock worked him lovingly, slowly, until John was moaning with impatience and lust, squirming and pushing himself onto Sherlock's fingers. They were lovely fingers, and John had nothing against them, but all he wanted at that moment was Sherlock's cock. "Go already," John managed to pant when Sherlock was almost absentmindedly exploring John, trying to replicate the amazing stroking to his prostate he'd received in the car. John was an experienced doctor, and Sherlock wanted to learn how to absolutely _worship _a prostate like that.

However, at John's insistence, he shifted his want for an 'experiment' aside and reached for the lube again. Slicking up his cock, he lined himself up at John's entrance and John sat up for a kiss as he slid inside, sheathing himself in tight, velvet heat. Both men groaned into each other's mouths at the sensation of filling someone and being filled. Once John had adjusted, Sherlock started to roll his hips slowly, gasping by John's temple as John held himself up, pushing forward when Sherlock did, meeting his thrusts. John kissed his jawline, his neck, moaning into his skin when Sherlock found his prostate.

As they continued, Sherlock's pace increased until they were both sweating and shaking, rolling in perfect rhythm, giving and taking together. They were partners before they had been married, reading each other's minds at some points as they raced around London solving crimes. If John gave, Sherlock took, and vice versa. Before they'd become romantically involved, they had already been filling the voids that each other held- a need for a companion, a person to understand, to work with them, to listen. Then, they'd slowly fell for each other until they'd fallen so hard for each other it had been as if their whole world had been revolutionized. They had already fit like two pieces of a puzzle, but now they truly _fit _together. They were two halves of the same whole, the best person that the other knew. They were continuously fascinated and surprised and loved by the other person, and that passion would live in them forever.

That passion brought the both of them climaxing together, muscles clenching and heads thrown back in ecstasy. White stars and bliss danced across their eyelids as the orgasm took them both, as they shouted each other's names to the heavens. When the two of them could feel and come back down to earth, Sherlock pulled out and dug back into the bedside drawer, retrieving a flannel he'd seen in there earlier. He cleaned them both off, murmuring his approval when John ran his fingers lazily through Sherlock's curls, scratching and smoothing.

Once they were clean, Sherlock threw the rag away and curled up next to John, worming the blankets out from underneath them and whisking them over the top. "Bloody hell," John sighed into his collarbone, and Sherlock buried his face into John's hair, relaxing into the doctor's embrace.

"Forever, John," Sherlock murmured into the short locks, and the doctor felt his heart swell at the words.

"Forever."


End file.
